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Veranilda

G >> George Gissing >> Veranilda




To divert a hungry populace, now six months besieged, Bessas was
offering entertainments such as suited the Saturnalian season.
To-day he had invited Rome to the Circus Maximus, where, because no
spectacle could be provided imposing enough to fill the whole vast
space, half a dozen shows were presented simultaneously; the
spectators grouped here and there, in number not a fiftieth part of
that assembly which thundered at the chariots in olden time. Here
they sat along the crumbling, grass-grown, and, as their nature was,
gladly forgot their country's ruin, their own sufferings, and the
doom which menaced them. Equestrians, contortionists, mimes,
singers, were readily found in the city, where a brave or an honest
man had become rare indeed. What a performance lacked in art, he
supplied by shamelessness; and nowhere was laughter so hearty, or
the crowd so dense, as in that part of the circus where comic
singers and dancers vied with the grossest traditions of the pagan
theatre.

Heliodora could not miss such an opportunity of enjoyment and of
display. She sat amid her like, the feline ladies and the young
nobles, half brute, half fop, who though already most of them fasted
without the merit of piety, still prided themselves on being the
flower of Roman fashion. During one of the pauses of the festival,
when places were changed, and limbs stretched, some one whispered to
her that she was invited to step towards that place of honour where
sat the Emperor's representative. An invitation of Bessas could not
lightly be declined, nor had Heliodora any reluctance to obey such a
summons. More than a year had gone by since her vain attempt, on
Marcian's suggestion, to enslave the avaricious Thracian, and, since
then, the hapless Muscula had had more than one successor. Roman
gossip, always busy with the fair Greek, told many a strange story
to account for her rigour towards the master of Rome, who was well
known to have made advances to her. So when to-day they were seen
sitting side by side, conversing vivaciously, curiosity went on
tiptoe. The entertainment over, Heliodora was carried home in her
litter, no friend accompanying her. Few nowadays were the persons in
Rome who bade guests to their table; even the richest had no great
superfluity of viands. After sunset, the city became a dark and
silent desert, save when watch-fires glared and soldiers guarded the
walls.

As was the case with all Romans who not long ago had commanded a
multitude of slaves and freedmen, Heliodora's household was much
reduced. Even before the siege began, many of the serving class
stole away to the Goths, who always received them with a welcome;
and since the closing of the gates this desertion had been of daily
occurrence, the fugitives having little difficulty in making their
escape from so vast a city so sparsely populated. No longer did the
child from far-off Anglia ride about on his mistress's errands; a
female slave, punished for boxing his ears, had stifled him as he
slept, and fled that night with five or six others who were tired of
the lady's caprices and feared her cruelty. Her aviary was empty.
Having wearied of that whim, she had let the birds loose; a
generosity she regretted now that toothsome morsels were rare. In
her strong box there remained little money, and the estate she owned
in a distant part of Italy might as well have been sunk in the sea
for all the profit it could yield her. True, she had objects of
value, such as were daily accepted by Bessas in exchange for corn
and pork; but, if it came to that extremity, could not better use be
made of the tough-skinned commander? Heliodora had no mind to
support herself on bread and pork whilst food more appetising might
still be got.

It was all but dark. She rang a hand-bell and was answered by a
maidservant.

'Has Sagaris returned yet?' she asked impatiently.

'Lady, not yet.'

Heliodora kept silence for a moment, then bade the girl bring her a
lamp. A very small lamp was set upon the table, and as she glanced
at its poor flame, Heliodora remembered that the store of oil was
nearly at an end.

Again she had sat alone for nearly half an hour, scarcely stirring,
so intent was she on the subject of her thoughts, when a light
footfall sounded without, and the curtain at the door was raised.
She turned and saw a dark countenance, which smiled upon her coldly.

'Where have you been?' broke angrily from her lips.

'Hither and thither,' was the softly insolent reply, as Sagaris let
the curtain fall behind him and stepped forward to the brazier, over
which he held out his hands to warm them.

By his apparel, he might have been mistaken for a noble.

Nominally he had for a year held the office of steward to Heliodora.
That his functions were not, as a matter of fact, all comprised
under that name was well known to all in the house, and to some
beyond its walls.

'Were you at the Circus?' she next inquired, using the large hood to
avoid his gaze without seeming to do so.

'I was there, gracious lady. Not, of course, in such an exalted
place as that in which I saw _you_.'

'I did not choose that place,' said Heliodora, her voice almost
conciliatory. 'Being sent for, I could not refuse to go.'

Sagaris set a stool near to his mistress, seated himself, and looked
up into her face. She, for an instant, bore it impatiently, but of a
sudden her countenance changed, and she met the gaze with a
half-mocking smile.

'Is this one of your jealous days?' she asked, with what was meant
for playfulness, though the shining of her eyes and teeth in the
lamplight gave the words rather an effect of menace.

'Perhaps it is,' answered the Syrian. 'What did Bessas say to you?'

'Many things. He ended by asking me to sup at the palace. You will
own that the invitation was tempting.'

Sagaris glared fiercely at her, and drew upon himself a look no less
fierce.

'Fool!' she exclaimed, once more speaking in a natural voice. 'How
shall we live a month hence? Have you a mind to steal away to the
Goths? If you do so, you can't expect me to starve here alone.
Thick-willed slave! Can you see no further than the invitation to
sup with that thievish brute?--which I should have accepted, had I
not foreseen the necessity of explaining to your dulness all that
might follow upon it.'

Esteeming himself the shrewdest of mankind, Sagaris deeply resented
these insults, not for the first time thrown at him by the woman
whom he regarded with an Oriental passion and contempt.

'Of course I know what you mean,' he replied disdainfully. 'I know,
too, that you will be no match for the Thracian robber.'

Heliodora caught his arm.

'What if I can make him believe that Belisarius has the Emperor's
command to send him in chains to Constantinople! Would he not rather
come to terms with Totila, who, as I know well, long ago offered to
let him carry off half his plunder?'

'You know that? How?'

'Clod-pate I Have you forgotten your master whom Basil slew? Did I
not worm out of him, love-sick simpleton that he was, all the
secrets of his traffic with Greeks and Goths?'

Again they glanced at each other like wild creatures before the
leap.

'Choose,' said Heliodora. 'Leave me free to make your fortune, for
Totila is generous to those who serve him well; or stay here and spy
upon me till your belly pinches, and the great opportunity of your
life is lost.'

There was a silence. The Syrian's features showed how his mind was
rocking this way and that.

'You have not cunning for this,' he snarled. 'The Thracian will use
you and laugh at you. And when you think to come back to me. . . .'

He touched the dagger at his waist.

In that moment there came confused sounds from without the room.
Suddenly the curtain was pulled aside, and there appeared the face
of a frightened woman, who exclaimed: 'Soldiers, lady, soldiers are
in the house!'

Heliodora started up. Sagaris, whose hand was still on the dagger's
hilt, grasped her by the mantle, his look and attitude so like that
of a man about to strike that she sprang away from him with a loud
cry. Again the curtain was raised, and there entered hurriedly
several armed men. Their leader looked with a meaning grin at the
lady and her companion, who now stood apart from each other.

'Pardon our hasty entrance, fair Heliodora,' he said in Greek. 'The
commander has need of you--on pressing business.'

'The commander must wait my leisure,' she replied with a note of
indignation over-emphasised.

'Nay, that he cannot,' returned the officer, leering at Sagaris. 'He
is even now at supper, and will take it ill if you be not there when
he rises from table. A litter waits.'

Not without much show of wrath did Heliodora yield. As she left the
room, her eyes turned to Sagaris, who had shrunk into a corner,
coward fear and furious passion distorting his face. The lady having
been borne away, a few soldiers remained in the house, where they
passed the night. On the morrow Bessas himself paid a visit to that
famous museum of sculpture, and after an inspection, which left no
possible hiding-place unsearched, sent away to the Palatine
everything that seemed to him worth laying hands upon.

Meanwhile the domestics had all been held under guard. Sagaris, who
heard his relations with Heliodora jested over by the slaves and
soldiers, passed a night of terror, and when he knew of the
commander's arrival, scarce had strength to stand. To his surprise,
nothing ill befell him. During the pillage of the house he was
disregarded, and when Bessas had gone he only had to bear the scoffs
of his fellow-slaves. These unfortunates lived together as long as
the scant provisions lasted, then scattered in search of sustenance.
The great house on the Quirinal stood silent, left to its denizens
of marble and of bronze.

Sagaris, who suspected himself to have been tricked by Heliodora in
the matter of her removal to the Palatine, and had not the least
faith in her power to beguile Bessas, swore by all the saints that
the day of his revenge should come; but for the present he had to
think of how to keep himself alive. Money he had none; it was idle
to hope of attaching himself to another household, and unless he
escaped to the Goths, there was no resource but to beg from one or
other of those few persons who, out of compassion and for their
souls' sake, gave alms to the indigent. Wandering in a venomous
humour, he chanced to approach the Via Lata, and out of curiosity
turned to the house of Marcian. Not knowing whether it was still
inhabited, he knocked at the door, and was surprised to hear a dog's
bark, for nearly all the dogs in Rome had already been killed and
eaten. The wicket opened, and a voice spoke which he well
remembered.

'You alive still, old Stephanus? Who feeds you? Open and teach me
the art of living on nothing.'

He who opened looked indeed the image of Famine--a fleshless,
tottering creature, with scarce strength left to turn the key in the
door. His only companions in the house were his daughter and the
dog. Till not long ago there had been also the daughter's child,
whom she had borne to Marcian, but this boy was dead.

'I'm glad to see you,' said Stephanus mysteriously, drawing his
visitor into the atrium, and speaking as if the house were full of
people who might overhear him. 'Your coming to-day is a strange
thing. Have you, perchance, had a dream?'

'What dream should I have had?' answered Sagaris, his superstition
at once stirring.

The old man related that last night, for the third time, he had
dreamt that a treasure lay buried in this house. Where he could not
say, but in his dream he seemed to descend stairs, and to reach a
door which, when he opened it, showed him a pile of gold, shining in
so brilliant a light that he fell back blinded, whereupon the door
closed in his face. To this the Syrian listened very curiously.
Cellars there were below the house, as he well knew, and hidden
treasure was no uncommon thing in Rome. Having bidden Stephanus
light a torch, he went exploring, but though they searched long,
they could find no trace of a door long unopened, or of a walled-up
entrance.

'You should have more wit in your dreaming, old scarecrow,' said
Sagaris. 'If I had had a dream such as that a second time, not to
speak of a third, do you think I should not have learnt the way. But
you were always a clod-pate.'

Thus did he revenge himself for the contumely he had suffered from
Heliodora. As he spoke they were joined by the old man's daughter,
who, after begging at many houses, returned with a pocketful of
lentils. The girl had been pretty, but was now emaciated and
fever-burnt; she looked with ill-will at Sagaris, whom she believed,
as did others of his acquaintance, to have murdered Marcian, and to
have invented the story of his death at the hands of Basil. Well
understanding this, Sagaris amused himself with jesting on the loss
of her beauty; why did she not go to the Palatine, where handsome
women were always welcome? Having driven her away with his
brutality, he advised Stephanus to keep silent about the treasure,
and promised to come again ere long.

He now turned his steps to the other side of Tiber, and, after
passing through poor streets, where some show of industries was
still kept up by a few craftsmen, though for the most part folk sat
or lay about in sullen idleness, came to those grinding-mills on the
slope of the Janiculum which were driven by Trajan's aqueduct. Day
and night the wheels made their clapping noise, seeming to clamour
for the corn which did not come. At the door of one of the mills, a
spot warmed by the noonday sun, sat a middle-aged man, wretchedly
garbed, who with a burnt stick was drawing what seemed to be
diagrams on the stone beside him. At the sound of a footstep, rare
in that place, he hastily smeared out his designs, and looking up
showed a visage which bore a racial resemblance to that of Sagaris.
Recognising the visitor, he smiled, pointed to the ground in
invitation, and when Sagaris had placed himself near by, began
talking in the tongue of their own Eastern land. This man, who
called himself Apollonius, had for some years enjoyed reputation in
Rome as an astrologer, thereby gaining much money; and even in these
dark days he found people who were willing to pay him, either in
coin or food, for his counsel and prophecies. Fearful of drawing
attention upon himself, as one who had wealth in store, he had come
to live like a beggar in this out-of-the-way place, where his money
was securely buried, and with it a provision of corn, peas, and
lentils which would keep him alive for a long time. Apollonius was
the only man living whom Sagaris, out of reverence and awe, would
have hesitated to rob, and the only man to whom he did not lie. For
beside being learned in the stars, an interpreter of dreams, a
prophet of human fate, Apollonius spoke to those he could trust of a
religion, of sacred mysteries, much older, he said, and vastly more
efficacious for the soul's weal than the faith in Christ. To this
religion Sagaris also inclined, for it was associated with memories
of his childhood in the East; if he saw the rising of the sun, and
was unobserved, he bowed himself before it, with various other
observances of which he had forgotten the meaning.

His purpose in coming hither was to speak of Stephanus's dream. The
astrologer listened very attentively, and, after long brooding,
consented to use his art for the investigation of the matter.

* * * *

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